I see the hanging silhouette of the willow tree.
The eerie shadow of this tree
is something I know all too well.
Roots deep in soil,
voluminous leaves,
brown... hanging.
You see, my people are like the trees.
Wise, brown,
standing tall, with many beautiful roots and leaves.
Suddenly,
Sethe got roots on her back,
Emmett wading in the water,
and all I see
is strange fruit hanging.
These trees feel different now...
Once so green and full,
now drooping lifelessly.
So, maybe I see a willow tree,
or maybe it's a brother with his dreads
lying on the street.
Something about this feels so deep.
How we all come from and return to
the willow tree.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hoof-deep in twilight,
the willow braids its green hair~
slow feast of shadows.
Earth tastes of salt and thunder
when the sky leans down to watch.
Viscous flow in thin veins
Vitals are dancing like the willow tree
Up and down she goes
Old Willow Tree, let your branches fall,
Shelter me in your soft willow, I’m seeking a place to hide, not wanting to leave..
For as the soft wind blow your long weeping branches, I can hear the soft rain falling, it’s tear drops falling on me, yet I’m safe under your sturdy tree.
Why or how you got your name weeping Willow, is it because your branches fall as if one is weeping in sadness of grief or joy?
Weeping Willow, here you stand so tall, sturdy in the park, with fall leaves amidst the ground, through fall, winter, spring, summer, many people of all ages, kids, come to gather, seeking a solace from life’s many strifes, yet we know the phrase, “This season too shall pass..
Strong, weeping Willow, we shall meet again someday, to sit amidst your flowing branches, with GODS creations, birds, squirrels, robins, to soak in your beauty..
See me here by the bank of the river.
I am a tall and leafy green willow.
In the heat of summer, I deliver
welcoming shade that spreads out below
the graceful drape of my canopy’s flow.
As softly as silent tears my limbs cascade,
quivering in summer’s slightest breeze.
Lithely I sway while offering my shade.
Souls weary and sweltering I put at ease.
Come rest beneath my beauty if you please.
I am a willow tree, sturdy and proud
I bow to the sun and I welcome the crowd
An enchanting mystic, to wallow in shade
My resilience astounding, unwilling to fade
I cry in the West, mournfully blue
Bringing life in the East with a positive hue
Adapting through time, I offer a portal
To a life just like mine, eternal immortal
When asked what I am, I declare very loud
That I am a willow tree, sturdy and proud
I am a weeping willow tree.
My graceful branches swing and sway
as gentle breezes blow through me!
Neath the blue sky, each summer day,
I so enjoy my happy dance!
My branches flow just like a stream
cascading nearly to the ground.
As tiny leaves glow in the gleam
of sun rays, they are surely bound
to create soon a mystic trance!
I am called 'the ancient one' among my peers,
known for my sweeping limbs, as if they weep.
I was taken from the bank of the River Sugen
when my tender roots were still quite young.
From Nature's arms, I was carefully replanted,
nurtured and shaped by the one who cares for me.
He's gently pruned my limbs to keep me healthy
and taken me outside to absorb morning sunlight.
I am proud to be a specimen of Japanese culture,
a miniature version of my Asian flora ancestors.
My name suggests that I am sombre.
My tumbling tresses are my glory.
They swing and sway at the touch of a breeze
And drape beautifully by the stream.
My attire casts a cooling shadow in the heat of the day.
My presence offers vibes of serenity.
I am at home in calm and quiet places.
I am true and evergreen with no hidden layers to find me.
My foliage can conceal those seeking solitude.
I am a Weeping Willow Tree.
My head is full of green hair,
Locks dipped low to water blue
You will always find me close to ground
Near to my love so true.
Our hands hold each other so very tight,
I drink of his love with all my might.
My legs stand on the river so strong,
hidden by my locks so so long.
Watch and listen, everyone knows
the sweet sweet sound of my Weeping Willow song.
Chantelle Smith 26092025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
green reeds softly sway
sunlight paints the willow trees
cares drift, fall away
As you walk down the dirt path, past the tall green trees,
I hope you remember who you are when you reach the willow tree.
You will inevitably get lost, confused in the woods,
struggling to find your way to the willow.
When the light dims, the whoos and coos of owls
and other nameless creatures will hymn in your ear,
distracting you from the overcompensation of your own voice
a light whisper of overthinking,
a gentle pluck of uncertainty.
The journey is long and weary,
more mournful for the woods you walk
than eager for the destination ahead.
With fleet, you fall,
but with glory, you rise
again and again
proving you know what you want.
Unsure of what lies at your destination,
you remain purely hopeful,
your mind already hanging by the tips
of the lanceolate leaves.
The sun fades to moonlight,
and you stand in the quiet presence
of a single thought
a dream that lingered
through the walking and the withering.
Thankful for sight,
eager never to turn your back to the wilderness,
for you have reached
nature.
Every rotation on your turn-table eye,
Or every buzz that the radio hums:
"Ah, I see, music sings through you.
So no, I know,
I won't be okay."
The green of the frail willow tree I spy,
Or every flash of a sunbeam on the stroll:
"Ah, I see, colours shine through you.
So no, I know,
I won't be okay."
Every frequent meal in this colourless place,
Or a willing treat if I'm likely to steal:
"Ah, I see, sweetness comes with you.
So no, I know,
I won't be okay."
Every second I spend counting hours away
Or hours I spend counting days:
"Ah, I see, my time should be with you.
So no, I know,
I can't see you though.
No, I know,
I won't be okay."
On a hill far, far, away there lives a dead willow tree.
And if you visit there’ll be a girl, with long inky hair as deep as the darkest sky.
She wears long rags that are elegant and dances in the sowllow wind.
She comes every day with a beautiful dismay of light, then leaves when the sky turns to the deepest shade of moonlight.
But if you ask for her name she’ll point at a grave, then fade far, far, away as the wind shallowly presses on to a place too far away.
I used to imagine stepping off the shingles of my childhood home
Thought it might be poetic
To end it
Where it started
While perched there
Peaking over
Waiting for the wind to catch me right
I caught a glimpse of my old willow tree
My dad had planted it for me
I watched it grow
So slow
Still small now
Has so much left to go
I used to dream of climbing it one day
When it was big
And strong
And bright
I think one day I still might
Maybe life’s worth more
than my brains on the pavement
Maybe my life’s worth more
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